


with you again

by julgru



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7843162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julgru/pseuds/julgru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had to go back, of course he did. The world was a mess, his friends in jail, and his love deep asleep. He couldn’t sit around, rolling his thumbs when people needed him.</p><p>Or, Steve has things to do, and he needs Bucky's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with you again

**Author's Note:**

> guess who's back, back again. ya it's me, tell a friend.
> 
> okay, so i had to mess a lil bit with the timeline in the end of the movie, otherwise this wouldn't make sense. i also want to send out a quick thank you to my amazing beta; i love you, you're the light of my life and i am forever in your debt. any remaining mistakes are my own.

“Any progress will be noted to you, Captain.” T’Challa nodded towards him and shook his hand, all in the spirit of formality. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Steve answered, suppressing a bodily reaction at his rank. He wasn’t, didn’t want it, shouldn’t have it. He boarded the jet without another word, buckling up as the ground faded to clouds and buildings below him grew smaller. 

-

He had to go back, of course he did. The world was a mess, his friends in jail, and his love deep asleep. He couldn’t sit around, rolling his thumbs when people needed him, just because he wanted to watch Bucky sleep. He knew he’d go restless eventually, so it was better to go back sooner rather than later. 

He’d found Natasha and immediately tried to convinced her to help him get Sam and the others out. It turned out to be easier than he thought it would be; she already had her sight on helping them escape anyway. They took down the guards together, and while Natasha disabled the security from the main room, Steve got the cell doors open. They left the floating prison, unharmed, in the same quinjet they arrived in. The entire OP has taken less than 45 minutes. 

When back in New York, Steve sat down in his apartment - which was most likely bugged, but oh, how little he cares - and started writing a letter to Tony. He sent a phone with the letter, a simple dumb phone, with one single number in the contact list. Tony’s a smart guy, Steve thinks. He’ll figure it out. 

-

“So, what’s gonna happen now?” Sam asks. They’re in Steve’s kitchen, having a coffee a few days after the rescue. Steve counts the days in his head, and realises that it’s been over a week and a half since he left Wakanda. 

“Don’t know. Nat’s got some resources for you if you want. Could probably help you pull a Barton,” Steve answers, fiddling non-stop with his phone. He’s not heard from T’Challa since he left Wakanda, which probably doesn’t mean anything. No progress, no failures. It’s fine; Steve knows it wasn’t going to be magically solved over night. They’re probably lucky if they succeed at all, without hurting Bucky even further. 

“What, like disappearing and getting a wife and three kids?” Sam huffs, pulling Steve out of his thoughts. “You think that’s what I want right now?”

Steve is tired. He doesn’t want to argue. “I don’t know, Sam. Do you?” 

Sam shakes his head in disbelief. Drinks his coffee. “No, I don’t. I actually don’t know what I want. It’s not like I can go back to work. Probably can’t even leave the country.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. It wasn’t supposed to end this way,” Steve says, and it’s true. Never in his wildest dreams could he imagine that he’d end up being a wanted criminal in 117 countries. 

“Hey, don’t apologize. What we did, we did as a team. I wouldn’t have done anything differently if I could.”

Steve looks at him. This guy, his friend, his teammate. He doesn’t stay down. He fights, like Steve, and he does it brilliantly. Maybe even better, cleaner, than Steve does. Sam smiles at him over his coffee cup, and words of trust are left unspoken. 

“We should probably figure out what to do with your creepy boyfriend, though,” Sam continues. He’s joking, obviously, but the mention of Bucky makes Steve’s stomach go cold, and he looks down on his phone again.

“He’s safe there,” Steve says, even if it pains him. Truth hurts, and all that. 

“What are they doing? To him?” Sam is approaching the subject carefully, and Steve is half mad at him for it, and half grateful for his level of understanding. Steve stands up, deciding that he needs to do something with his hands to distract himself from letting his eyes water. It’s easier said than done.

“Not much. He was still under when I left,” he says, pouring out his now lukewarm coffee in the sink before rinsing it and refilling it with a fresh cup. He pours too much sugar in and stirs slowly, inhaling and exhaling every other loop. Steve turns around to face Sam, leaning back on the counter. “T’Challa said that to help him, they need to rewire the programming, erase the significance of the words. They could probably do that through psych evals, but Bucky didn’t want to risk anyone getting hurt. He needs to get it - and himself - under control, he said.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Well, sleeping won’t help then.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re right, it won’t.”

Sam walks up to him, standing next to the counter. His coffee remains on the dinner table, 

“You did good though, Steve.” Sam says, resting an arm on Steve’s shoulder. He gives it a gentle squeeze, before pulling Steve into a firm hug. “He needed to decide what to do.”

-

A week passes, and then another one, which turns out to be the most boring week of his life, Steve decides. He does absolutely nothing, doesn’t draw, doesn’t talk to anyone, barely leaves his kitchen, restless. He tries to catch up on what the people are saying about him, but he really can’t bring himself to care. They’ve got it all wrong anyway. 

He goes out for a run on Thursday morning, for lack of better things to do. He’s not surprised for even a second when he runs into Natasha, wearing jogging shorts and a sports bra. They fall in sync with each other’s steps, even if Natasha’s breathing is getting increasingly harder after a few minutes. 

“Turn,” she breathes out as they pass a flower shop on Steve’s right. She slows down and walks up a hotdog stand, buying two bottles of water. She hands one of them to Steve without a word, and he thanks her with a silent nod. He doesn't particularly need it; the pace had been slower than he usually runs to let Natasha keep up, and he’s hardly out of breath. Still, he drains half of the bottle in one pull, just for the hell of it.

“I need your help,” she says after a minute, walking towards a park bench on the corner of the street. She sits down, breathing heavily. 

Steve can’t help the chill of excitement going through his body. It’s exactly what he needed right now. A mission, a task, a favor, anything. “I figured.”

“I only have a few hours a day when I’m not being watched,” she says, very obviously annoyed and distracted by this fact. “I’m trying to get Wanda out of here. I got her a new ID, a background story, but she needs a place.”

“Where is she now?” Steve asks. 

“In a hotel. I told her not to leave, but she can’t stay there forever,” Natasha responds. They’re quiet for a while, meanwhile Steve starts to strategize. He needs a plan because, no, Wanda can’t stay locked up in a hotel forever. She’s been locked up more than enough already. He looks around the place, searching for inspiration. Natasha indulges him in some time to think, taking small sips of her water before rising to her feet. With one foot on the bench and the other one on the ground, she leans forward to stretch out. 

“What do you need?”

Natasha smirks. She already knew he’d say yes, there was no doubt about it. “An apartment contract for one miss Gabriela Mayer, somewhere far away. A blueprint of the building, too. A donut, if you’re offering.”

Steve laughs, but heads into the first small bakery he sees. He buys a chocolate covered donut for Natasha and a cream cheese and bacon bagel for himself. When he returns to the park bench, Natasha is done stretching and sitting down with her face lifted towards the sun, eyes closed. He makes his presence known by nudging her leg with his knee, asking her to move over. He sits down next to her and hands her the donut. They eat in silence, watching the cars that’s waiting for the green light by the intersection. 

“I’m really not good with the spy stuff, Nat,” Steve says after a while, and yes, isn’t that the fucking truth. He knows how to fight, sure, can even go somewhat undercover by now. But hacking and creating aliases and shit, that’s always been Natasha’s thing.

“I know,” she answers, but she doesn’t sound too worried about it. “I would if I could, but they took my computer. They got me on all opening hours. I’m stuck, Steve.”

“What about the others?” He wants to add in general, but they’re obviously on a schedule. 

“Barton’s off the radar, being Barton and all. Sam’s already on his way to DC,” she pauses, thinking. It stings, slightly, to hear that Sam’s leaving. He didn’t tell Steve he was going. But then again, it’s Sam’s complete freedom to do what he needs. He’ll call Steve when he feels like it. “Don’t know about the tiny guy, though. Lang, right?”

“Scott, yeah. Barely knew him. Sam’s the one who suggested we’d ask him. I didn’t mean for him to end up there. Had a daughter, apparently.”

“It’s not your fault, Steve,” Natasha says, serious. Steve snorts.

“People keep saying that.”

Natasha's quiet for a moment. She picks up her phone, probably checking the time.

“I need to go. They expect me to check-in at 0800 o’clock, so we can pretend that I don’t know about the three agents assigned to my watch,” she sighs, but Steve knows that deep down, she enjoys the chase. Loves having the upper hand, being one step ahead. 

“Why?” Steve asks.

“It’s basically like house arrest, except from the fact that I don’t own a house,” she rolls her eyes.

“What for?”

This makes Natasha smirk, and she raises an eyebrow playfully. “Helping a criminal escape.”

Steve snorts again. They don’t even know half of it. “How do I find you?”

“Just get the documents. I’ll keep in touch,” she says, standing up again. She leans over and plants a kiss on Steve’s cheek, a _see you later_ kind of goodbye. She tends to do that. 

She gives him one last smile and turns around, and a few seconds later she’s gone. Blending into the mass of people, like the professional she is. 

-

As Steve doesn’t have his computer anymore - probably in some bag labeled _Evidence, Rogers Steven Grant_ for all he knows - he goes to the library. With a cap low on his head, he sits down by one of the desktop computers and clicks on the internet tab. He doesn’t know where to start, so he types in _map america_ in the search bar and clicks enter. 

He still doesn’t know a good place to hide in plain sight, so he closes his eyes and points at the screen. When he opens his eyes he sees where he’s pointing and - perfect. Idaho. All mountains and fishing and forests. 

He prints out a bigger map of Idaho and starts looking for places to live. Boise is too big, too many people. She could get recognized. She could probably disappear in Twin Falls, it’s got a low unemployment rate. Something doesn’t quite feel right, though, so Steve keeps looking. 

He keeps looking until it’s closing time, and he keeps looking the day after. And the day after that, and even the day after that. He writes down cities and information in a notebook, looks up roads and possible escape routes. Better safe than sorry, he thinks, and notes another emergency exit in the town mall. 

-

After about two weeks of being in the library every day, from opening to closing hours, Steve is starting to get suspicious looks from the librarian. He’s curious, very, asks if he can help Steve with anything every other day. Steve politely declines, but doesn’t stop from coming the next day anyway. 

One day, after thirty minutes of hovering around Steve, he walks over to the librarian, asking in his least annoyed voice he can muster. “Excuse me, sir, do you have a copy of yesterday’s newspaper? I forgot to read the little comics I love.”

The man stutters for a second, obviously surprised. “Um, yes, I think so. It should be over at the archives. The folders are marked by the dates.”

“Thank you so much,” Steve says, smiling. He walks over to where the archives are, hearing a faint _no problems_ behind him. He gives himself a short second of pride for being able to throw the man off guard like that. It doesn’t last long though, when he realizes that it’s going to take even longer to find Wanda a place, being interrupted like this. Whatever.

He is reaching for the folder on the top shelf, just as someone presses up against his back, a gloved hand gripping the roll of paper before Steve can get it. He’s milliseconds from launching himself backwards and kicking his way to an escape, when the person speaks up.

“Here, let me get that for you,” a man says in a deep, hoarse voice, as if he’s not spoken in weeks. Steve freezes, body unmoving as his heart drops to the pits of his stomach. He doesn’t know what to do; torn between grabbing Bucky’s hand and rushing out of the library, and slinging his arms around Bucky’s neck in a tight hug. Instead, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and leans back against strong muscles, right where he wants to be. Before he knows it though, Bucky is stepping away from Steve and he turns around on pure autopilot.

“Buck-” Steve breathes, and his fingers trembles slightly. Bucky is wearing a dark bomber jacket with his left jacket arm in his pocket, the thick fabric concealing that it’s empty. He’s got a cap on his head, and his hair is pulled back from his face. He looks good, well rested, and he smells freshly showered.

“Shut up, don’t make a scene,” Bucky says, handing over the file to Steve more firmly this time. He gives Steve a small smile, or at least he tries. “We’re both highly wanted criminals, remember?”

They’re still close enough that all it would take is a small gesture of a hand, and they would touch. Steve wants to, he really does. He’s not seen Bucky since he left Wakanda, and he _wants_ to touch him. They’re obviously acting like strangers, though, so Steve can’t kiss or touch him the way he wants, even if he so desperately craves it. He’s aware of the fact that his face isn’t quite in his control just yet either; he probably looks like he witnessed a murder, but he hopes that Bucky will see it for what it is.

“Why didn’t you- when did you get back? Why didn’t anyone alert me?” Steve rushes out as Bucky looks around, searching and assessing. He wants to leave, that much is obvious.

“You’d start stirring up some shit, knowing you,” Bucky responds, raising an eyebrow. “Probably coming to pick me up at the airport, or some other idiotic stuff.” 

“I would. I wanted to. T’Challa should have called.” Steve can’t keep from frowning. T’Challa promised to notify Steve of any news. Coming home is some _big_ news. He should have been more prepared than this. He moves the blueprint from one arm to the other, so that he can be even closer to Bucky, without actually touching him.

“I specifically asked him not to.” 

Bucky backs away slowly, and Steve realizes that he’s giving Steve a chance to stop him. He’s too slow though, just as he moves for Bucky, he’s turning around with a final wave of his hand.

“Go, I’ll find you.”

With two steps he’s turning around the corner of the bookshelf, and it takes all of Steve’s willpower not to follow him, chasing him down. First, he needs to take a few calming breaths. His heart is pounding from the adrenaline of the first contact, and his eyes are watering from Bucky being _home_. He doesn’t know how Bucky is, how he’s feeling - doesn’t even know if he was discharged or left on his own. He- they need to talk, which means that Steve has to go somewhere Bucky can find him. Somewhere Bucky is safe.

He doesn’t know where to go. 

He goes home. 

-

Steve finds himself nervously pacing from room to room in his apartment. He shuts the door to his bathroom, before opening it again. He wouldn’t consider himself paranoid, but he likes having eyes on as much of the perimeter as possible. It’s an old habit, a comfort almost.

He’s rearranging the order of his scented candles in the hallway, when he hears the window open. He knows who it is, or at least _hopes_ he does, but either way doesn’t move to protect himself. If it’s an uninvited guest, he’s got plenty of room for fighting, and multiple potential weapons. He hears the faintest sounds of footsteps and the floor creaking, and his heart speeds up involuntary. 

He takes a deep breath and leaps into action.

“Bucky?” Steve calls out, not too loud, in case he might scare the other man. He walks slowly towards the living room, ears straining for more sounds.

“Is that you?” He tries again, receiving no answer. “Bucky, I swear to -”

He doesn’t get any further than that, because in the next step Steve rounds the corner and there he is. Flesh and bones, wearing a different set of clothes than earlier at the library. Steve’s words, all of them, gets caught in his throat and he allows himself to just _look_.

Bucky smiles sadly, removing the straps of his backpack and throwing it on the floor. “Told you I’d find you.”

It’s like the penny finally hits the bottom of the well. Steve takes three longs strides towards Bucky and the middle of the room, basically engulfing Bucky in his arms. One arm sneaks its way around Bucky’s waist, and the other one cupping his cheek. Bucky flinches away slightly at the sudden touch, but relaxes just as fast, closing his eyes on an exhale.

And then they’re kissing.

Steve doesn’t know who kissed who, doesn’t care for the life of him, only knows that they’re kissing. It’s no finesse, no technique, just lips and tongue and shared breathing. Bucky moves his hand up to where Steve’s neck meets his shoulder and pulls them even closer together. Steve shivers. It’s been over a month and a half since they’ve been this close. Days and hours and weeks since Steve held him, lump in his throat as he watched Bucky go back under. Before that, though, decades. 

Bucky is the first one to break the kiss, breathless, but Steve doesn’t mind one bit. He’s quite in need of oxygen himself, but he wouldn’t have had the capacity to leave Bucky’s lips if not told to. Instead, he buries his nose under Bucky’s jaw and just _breathes_. Steve doesn’t remember how Bucky used to smell; the war was years ago, even for Steve. He imagines it’s something like sweat and cheap smokes and heat, though. Nothing like the way Bucky smells now - yet it still smells like fucking home to him. 

He doesn’t realize he’s sniffling until Bucky lets out a small laugh, pulling back to wipe at Steve’s eyes with his thumb. Steve lets him, even if he’s just smearing the wetness all over his face with just one hand, but it feels good. 

“Stop weepin’, you big baby,” Bucky says, although there’s no heat behind it. A laugh forces its way out of Steve’s throat. Before they can stop themselves, they’re both giggling at each other for no reason, Steve still sniffling every now and then. 

“Your face makes me weep,” Steve answers, and it’s only half a lie. He leans in to kiss Bucky again, and this time they’re keeping it slow. Steve tries to break away several times, but Bucky chases him and Steve can’t help but give in. Bucky presses his hips against Steve’s and gasps. Steve can feel the hard line of his cock, but makes no move to take it any further. He’s great, exactly where he is. Bucky seems to be as well. 

When they finally break away, Bucky moving over to sit on the couch and picking up Steve’s notebook. Steve feels cold without the added warmth of Bucky, and his lips are tingling. Bucky reads a few pages from the book, snorting to himself. “So this is what you were doing at the library then? Idaho, really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know where to look,” Steve says, embarrassed. He scratches his neck as he sits down next to Bucky, watching him take in the words. 

“What’s it for? You wanna disappear?” Bucky asks, turning another page. He reads about Grangeville, scrunching up his nose. 

“No, it’s not for me. Wanda, she needs a getaway,” Steve answers. 

“Well, has she got any alias to start with?” Bucky asks. He looks at Steve and still, after 70 years and some more, after bloodied faces and cold, he _still_ takes Steve’s breath away. He looks older, with stubble and dark circles, but he feels younger. He makes Steve feel younger. 

“Yeah, Nat fixed all that,” Steve says with a shy laugh, looking down.

Bucky hums. Steve meets his eyes again, and Bucky looks skeptical. “And she couldn’t do this, why?” 

“She’s got people on her back all the time. Was afraid she’d drag Wanda back into the shit of it.”

Bucky closes the notebook, throwing it on the coffee table. The sound echoes in the otherwise quiet apartment. Bucky crawls closer to Steve on the couch, motioning for him to lean back, before dumping himself on Steve’s chest. “Well, Idaho isn’t gonna do it. Try Oregon.”

“Why? They’re basically the same, Buck. All mountains.”

Bucky snorts; cool air against Steve’s collarbone. “More farms in Oregon. She could work and live at the same place. Or she could go to Corvallis. She’d blend in there, with the other college students. Plus, it’s close to the freeway. Easy escape and all.” 

Steve’s stunned. He knew Bucky was good at this stuff - has seen it with his own eyes - but it comes so _easy_ to him. What would have takes Steve days to scramble together, Bucky got out in less than two minutes. He could probably disappear while still laying on Steve’s chest, that’s how good he is.

“I’ll look it up tomorrow. See if I can find any places to stay,” Steve says. 

“I’ll help you,” Bucky responds, voice serious.

In lieu of a answering, Steve runs a hand up Bucky’s spine, touching the muscles under his skin. He can feel every bump of bone, the dip and hill, dip and hill, and dip. Bucky hums, moving his face to the crook of Steve’s neck. His breathing comes out in small puffs against Steve’s sensitive skin, and it feel amazing. 

“I know you want to ask. Go ahead,” Bucky says, and the elephant in the room has been acknowledged. 

“How did you get out? What did they-,” Steve pauses. He can’t find the words. “-do?”

Bucky leans up on his arm, planting an innocent kiss on Steve’s mouth. Steve instantly relaxes; they’re fine. 

“You want to know if I escaped, basically?” Bucky’s teasing, Steve knows, but he can’t help the uncertain nod he gives anyway. Bucky takes a deep breath, looking right into Steve’s eyes. “They helped me get it under control. Showed me methods to cope and distract myself, at least long enough to disable whoever’s trying to get the words out.” 

“So they let you go?” Steve’s interrupting, but he needs to find out.

“Not really. Well, yes. They did say I could leave,” Bucky says, and Steve lets out a breath of anxiety. They’re good. “But I need to go back, eventually, for more evaluations. More help, they said.”

“So, this is like a vacation?” 

This makes Bucky laugh, a raspy sound, rattling his entire body. Steve can’t help but smile, because damn, he does love that sound. “Yeah, it’s a vacation. A vacation without the beach and beers by the sunset.”

“I’ve got beer. They’re right over there, in the fridge,” Steve says. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, smirking, and grinds his hips into Steve’s. He leans down to kiss Steve again, but this time he lingers. “Yeah? You wanna go get them, big guy?”

Steve smirks back at him. “No, I really don’t.”

-

With Bucky’s help they find a place in a couple of hours, Steve filling out the applications and Bucky circling exits on the blueprints. He even writes a full escape route, meetup points and coordinates to the closest safe house. When asked if he’s been around the place, he just shrugs and staples the maps together. 

“How do I get these to Nat, then?” Steve asks, putting all papers in a folder when they’re done. He scribbles _Gabriela Mayer, 04071991_ on it in messy, blue letters on the front page of the file. In the corner of his eye he can see Bucky watching him with narrowed eyes. 

“I don’t know, didn’t she tell where to send them?”

“No, she didn’t. Just said that she’d keep in touch.” 

Bucky shrugs. “Well, then, she’ll keep in touch.”

“But she hasn’t. You’re both spies, you could probably figure out where she is,” Steve teases, leaning back on his chair, closer to Bucky. 

Bucky goes stiff for a second, looking away from Steve. His jaw clenches and he swallows, lips in a thin line. “I was never a spy.”

His voice is small, and Steve’s hearts doubles its speed. He wants to take it back, immediately, rushes to do so when Bucky puts his hand on top of Steve’s, stroking the skin with his thumb. Bucky pushes his chair so that’s right next to Steve’s and rests his head on Steve’s collarbone, forehead pressed to Steve’s neck. Their sides are touching, and Steve could just wrap his arm around him and they’d be hugging. He’s not sure if it’s overstepping a line, though, so he doesn’t. 

“Buck- I’m sorry.” 

Bucky shushes him. “I know. It’s no big deal, I’ve been called worse things than a spy.”

Steve doesn’t want to think about all the thing he’d seen people call Bucky the last few years, but he does it anyway. Before it was all _war hero_ and POW and martyr. Those words aren’t used in Bucky’s case anymore, not by anyone but Steve. Because to Steve, he’s all of that and more. Braver, stronger, loved. 

“Still, I shouldn’t have.”

“Spies gather information. I didn’t, not exclusively.” Bucky shrugs. “But you already knew that.”

“Yeah, I did. I meant what I said though, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do that, you were forced.”

“And I meant what I said too. I still did it, Steve.”

“If you’re guilty of what happened, then I’m the president,” Steve says, stubborn, and this brings a laugh out of Bucky. Sweet, sweet sound. Music to Steve’s ears. 

“They’d throw you in jail before you could say the word _freedom_ if they found you, idiot.”

“I’d love to see them try.”

Bucky smiles. “Me too. Imagine the face on Ross when he sees his men running around like lost chickens, chasing after you. How humiliating.”

Steve barks out a laugh, getting a _shhh_ from the librarian behind them. Steve gives him an apologetic look, and Bucky pinches him in the sides.

“We should go. No point in wasting time here anymore,” Bucky says, standing up. He helps Steve get the paper file in his backpack, hoisting it over his shoulders. He needs to buckle the chest strap to keep it from falling off one side. Steve finds it adorable, so he takes it upon himself to fasten the two attachments together. He steps into Bucky’s space, fixes his backpack and signs off with a small kiss on his forehead. 

“I’m starving. You want chicken wings?”

“Nah. Could go for a burger though. I’m craving those curly barbeque fries.”

“And a milkshake.”

“Strawberry, with chocolate sauce on top.”

Steve smiles. Bucky’s got the worst sweet tooth, even worse than before the war. Back then, he used to spend his last few dollars on chocolate bars, ones he’d share with his sister after school. “Dark chocolate or nothing, jerk. Don’t wanna jump my way back home, I’m boring like that.”

“The boring-est.”

“You love it.”

They end up at restaurant not too far away from Steve’s apartment. They order way too much food for only two people, but doesn’t leave as much as a slice of tomato on their plates. They curl up in bed together later that night, getting each other off with firm hands and wet mouths. Bucky falls asleep before Steve does because he’s too busy watching every twitch of Bucky’s mouth, every flutter of his eyes. He twists a bit in his sleep, anxious, and Steve wishes he could reach over and remove all the terrors behind his eyelids. He can’t, so instead he rests his lips against Bucky’s eyebrow, kissing away the frown.

-

When they wake up the following day, the first thing Bucky notices is that the file is gone. Instead, a note is sticking to the dinner table, written in Natasha’s handwriting.

_Good job boys. She’ll be ready to go in two days, pick her up two blocks from your apartment at 4 pm sharp. I’ll let her know the address._

_NAR_

“Damn, she’s good,” Bucky says.

Steve’s heart swells. “The best.”

-

Two days later they pull up by the curb where Wanda’s waiting. She’s got blond hair now, much, much shorter than the last time Steve saw her. She’s wearing a red plaid and blue jeans, at least two sizes too big. Steve gives her a peck on the cheek before loading in her things in the trunk. 

“Hope you’re buckled in, sweetheart,” Bucky says. “The next three days are going to be the best of your life.”

She smiles politely at him, not buying a second of Bucky’s well trained charm. “Yes. Sam warned me you’d say that.”

Steve almost chokes on his coffee. 

-

“Damnit, Steve! You took the wrong turn!”

“No, I didn’t! I was the fourth exit, not the fifth.”

“You’re so full of shit. I’m the one holding the map, stupid. Turn around.”

“If we end up in like Michigan, I’m blaming you so fucking hard.”

-

“Hey, could you text Sam, tell him my apartment’s free if he wants to stay there while we’re gone?”

“Hell no! I don’t want him sleeping in our bed. He’s probably gonna jerk off on our sheets, just out of spite.”

“Guys! Focus!”

-

“Steve, you should rest. I’ll take the wheel for a while.”

“No, I’m good, not tired. Just hand me my Coke, I’ll be fine.”

“Steve, please. It’s been nine hours. Sleep.”

Quiet.

“Fine.”

-

The apartment is on the outside of the city, right next to a small park. They arrive early in the morning, yet there are people milling about, walking their dogs and having a morning run. Bucky and Wanda walks into the building and up the two flight of stairs meanwhile Steve gets the bags out of the car. He could probably bring everything at once if he tried, but decides not to. Lifting two full suitcases and three duffel bags in one go might draw unnecessary attention. 

He hears footsteps approach when he’s about to get the last bags out of the car, and he looks up. A woman - about Wanda’s age, a bit older maybe - is smiling at him. She’s wearing workout clothes, and there’s a thin layer of sweat on her forehead. 

“Hi, sorry- I don’t mean to pry, but I saw you pack up some bags earlier. Are you moving in?” She asks with a broad smile. Steve feels himself stiffen a bit; they hadn’t come up with a cover story for him or Bucky.

“Um, no sorry. But my,” Steve pauses. “My sister is. Yeah.”

The woman’s smile grows impossibly wider. “Oh, great! My name’s Jenna, I live on the fourth with my roommate Nawal. I don’t know how you feel about it, but we’d love to have you over for lunch! Someday. Not today, if you wanna get your things sorted first of course. It’s just, it’s been a really long time since we had some new people around here.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure, I’ll um. I’ll ask Gabriela.”

“Amazing! Can I ask your name, please?”

Steve’s face heats up. “Sorry, sorry. Of course. I’m - Roger. Gabriela’s, um. Brother.”

Jenna laughs. “Long drive, huh? It’s fine, nice to meet you, Roger.”

The door to the apartment building opens and Bucky steps out, stumbling slightly over the edge. “What’s taking you so-.”

“Um,” Steve pauses again. “James! Come meet Jenna, Gabi’s new neighbour.”

Bucky looks at her warily; assessing threats, weaknesses and strength. A habit he can’t seem to shake. “Hi, I’m James.”

He reaches out a hand for her to shake, probably not because he wants, but because it’s expected of him. Steve can relate. She smiles at him, shaking his hand, eyes darting to where Bucky’s left arm ends. Bucky seems to notice, because he places himself just behind Steve to his right, distrustful. 

“Lovely to meet you! Another brother, or?” Jenna asks. Bucky looks up at Steve with a raised eyebrow, and Steve tries to communicate his lack of plan through one look of the eyes. 

“No,” Bucky says slowly, uncertain. “Boyfriend, actually.” 

And fuck, if that doesn’t make Steve’s stomach do a 360 flip. 

Bucky rests his arm around Steve’s waist, still looking at him. He’s challenging Steve to say something, always is, but Steve makes no move to to stop him. He just continues to look into Bucky’s blues, finding nothing but mischief there. Steve almost forgets they’ve got an audience until he hears a nervous laugh. 

“Well, that saved me an awkward question or two,” Jenna says, biting her lip, eyeing Steve slightly. “I should get going, but please. Do check with your sister. We love to make new friends!”

“Sure, bye,” Steve says, waving his hand awkwardly as Jenna disappears behind the doors. Bucky chuckles, reaching for the last bag and closing the trunk.

“Brother, huh? Great move, blondie,” he says, and for a second Steve thinks he’s complimenting him. Until he continues. “She’s got an accent, smartass.”

Well, shit. 

They get the things up the stairs and into the apartment. It’s not big, just enough space for two, possibly three people. There’s two rooms, one slightly bigger than the other, a living room connected to the kitchen, and a bathroom. Nothing too fancy, but still bright and clean. It’s completely empty though, and they’re got no furniture with them. Still, Wanda seems to have started to unpack anyway, because on the wall in the hallway hangs a picture of her and Pietro, smiling next to each other. Steve feels a little awkward, because he’s going to have to explain why the neighbours think they’re related, probably soon. 

Wanda walks out of one of the rooms, smiling. “I like it. Thanks, guys.”

“No worries,” Bucky answers. “The window in the big room is unlockable, so if you need to get out fast, that’s the way to go. It’s not too high, just make sure to land right and you’ll be fine.”

Wanda snorts, pushing back some hair falling in her face. “Thanks, Bucky. But I can basically fly, I think I’ll be able to break the fall.”

Bucky flushes bright pink. It’s such a good look on him, Steve wishes he could keep Wanda forever, so she could draw out that blush in him every day. Bucky seems to be immune every time Steve tries to. “Right, right. You’ve got the. Thing.”

“I’m gonna go furniture shopping, seeing as I don’t have as much as a bed. You staying long enough to help?” Wanda asks.

“Of course. We’ll stay for as long as you want, Wanda,” Steve says. He wraps his arms around Bucky from behind, nestling his face into Bucky’s neck. Mainly because he can’t not. Bucky’s warm, oh so warm, and he smells like skin and soap and _warmth_. 

“Let’s go then,” Wanda says, getting her purse from the other room. She walks past them in the doorway, getting her coat on. “Oh, and a certain neighbour called Jenna came by to say hello. Steve, I can’t believe you made me the _hot guy’s sister_ on my first day of living here.”

Bucky cracks up, laughing uncontrollably. Steve can’t help but join him. Yeah, he fucked up. 

“Sorry, pal. I’ll make it up to you,” he replies as they head out back to the car.

They drive around for about half an hour before finding a furniture store. The first objective is to find a bed, because no matter how much Bucky wants to buy seven different locks; a bed is the most important. They can’t fit the bed in the car though, so they have to get a trailer, much to Bucky’s annoyance. 

After getting a bed, Wanda finds a black couch with a matching arm chair that she absolutely loves. Bucky suggests a narrow coffee table made of grey marble for what he claims is strategic reasons - but Steve sees how he runs his hand against the surface, back and forth. He doesn’t mention it though, just heads over to the bookshelves, looking at one of deep maroon wood. 

“You can’t possibly think she’s gonna match black with brown, right?” Bucky says, hand on his hip. “She’s getting a black or a white, none of that wood shit.”

“I don’t know, it reminds me of your mom’s bookshelf. The one she gave to us when we moved to Water Street.”

“Well, this ain’t our apartment, Steve,” Bucky points out, softer this time.

“Exactly,” Wanda says behind them, startling them both. “It’s mine,” she adds, but chooses a black bookshelf all the same. 

They help her pick out a dining table, Bucky arguing over continuing the black and white aesthetic, meanwhile Steve wants her to break the pattern. He finds a dark red table with matching chairs, can even support his idea with a flower vase in the same design. Wanda decides to keep the chairs, but ditch the table as a compromise to them both. When they get to TV tables, Steve gets a twist of pity deep in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry, Wanda. I don’t know if I can afford a TV,” he says, ashamed. It’s not like he can go to the bank for a loan, and most of his accounts are freezed. The only way he’s got money is because of hidden cards Natasha got him, in case of emergency. This is an emergency.

Wanda, though, she grins as if she’d expected Steve to say something. She digs out her wallet from her bag, holding out a golden credit card with the word _premium plus_ written on. “Who says you’re buying?”

Steve’s confused. He looks over at Bucky, but he’s got the same facial expression. “What’s that?”

“Nat gave it to me before we left,” Wands shrugs. “Courtesy of Stark, apparently. Said he was sorry, didn’t mean to put me in a cell and blah blah blah. Still thinks he can buy people’s forgiveness with money. Not that I’m complaining, though.”

She winks at Steve, and he chokes out a laugh. They’ve had a history since forever, those two. Never quite trusting each other, Wanda more than Tony. Still, it warms Steve’s body to see him try, working to build a bond between them, being someone Wanda can count on. It’ll be a long, long road, but Wanda is a smart girl. She always figures out who’s good to her, and who isn’t. 

By the time they’ve got the most essential things, they’re hungry and snappy and in severe need of sleep. Wanda gets everything paid for, and Steve loads up the trailer while Bucky grumpily snacking on some chips. He’s not in the mood to help, and Steve sure as hell ain’t gonna be the one to force him. 

-

Over the next couple of days, the get most things set and done. They fill up the kitchen with kitchenware and cutlery, the fridge with food, the cupboards with plates and dry products. There’s plants and art in the living room, the shelves have got pictures and books and the bathroom cabinet has cleaning things. They get wireless WiFi, scented candles and curtains that match the carpet. They take turns doing things like getting lunch, vacuuming, buying screws or batteries, doing the dishes and napping. The last one tends to turn into a shared activity; collapsing on the couch from aching feet.

One day, when Steve comes back from a morning run, he hears Bucky and Wanda talking softly in the kitchen. He stops in the hallway, back against the wall, and listens. It’s not right to eavesdrop, he knows. He’ll buy them dinner as an apology, later.

“-didn’t turn up, Steve would be _dead_. You saved him,” Bucky’s hushed voice says. He sounds desperate. “I don’t know what I’d do without him, Wanda. I owe you.”

Steve’s stomach drops. Please, no.

“Instead I killed 40 innocent people and injured almost the double.”

A sigh. “You’re still learning.”

“That’s not an excuse.” Wanda is speaking so quietly Steve has to strain his ears to hear what she’s saying. 

“Wanda, it wasn’t your fault. You did your best, saved a hell of a lot of people while doing so.”

“I don’t have to walk far to find someone who thinks differently.”

“Yeah? Well, their opinions don’t matter for shit.” 

“Bucky, you’re such a hypocrite!” It’s getting tenser, and Steve is itching to stop them. Problem is, he can’t make himself move. “You can’t hide the fact that you’re scared shitless over hurting people without meaning to. You can’t, not from me.”

There’s a pause. Heavy breathing.

“But it’s not our fault. We’re just doing our best to survive.”

Another pause. Shuffling around.

“I guess.”

“We’re misunderstood. People fear what they can’t understand,” Bucky says, but it sounds rehearsed. Like someone has told him that, more than once. Steve wishes that it was him. 

“I guess.”

“But we’re stronger. Better than that.”

A snort. “Alright, calm down, Mr. President. No need for two hour long speeches in my kitchen, thanks.”

Steve shakes himself out of whatever haze he was in, toeing his way back to the front door. He opens and closes it fiercly, a loud _bang_ echoing in the apartment. “Hey, I’m gonna grab a shower. I’ll be right in.” He calls out, heading for the bathroom. They’re good, of course they are. They just need time; they all do.

Another time, when Wanda comes back from buying coffee filters, she’s completely red in the face. She’s biting back a smile; bottom lip between her teeth. Bucky raises an eyebrow to Steve, nodding towards Wanda. Steve just shrugs.

“So, um. You okay Wanda?” Steve tries, immediately regretting his choice of words.

“Yeah, great.” Wanda pauses, unloading the groceries from the paper bag. “I ran into Nawal in the stairwell.”

She’s trying to play it off like it’s nothing, but the blush in her cheeks betrays her. “She asked me if I wanted to come watch Star Wars with her. She likes space.” Another pause. “She’s cute, so I accepted.”

Bucky and Steve highfives behind her back. They get sprayed with water in return. 

Later that night, Steve hammers the last nail in the wall and Bucky hangs the final piece on its place. It’s a painting of the mountains in Sokovia, a memory of what used to be. Wanda gets a little choked up about it, but recovers fast enough for only Steve to notice. She takes a sharp breath and moves to sit on the couch. She pats the space next to her, arranging the pillows so all three of them will fit. They curl up together, blankets wrapped tight around them. 

“Tonight, I want movie night and take away,” Wanda says, feet resting over Steve’s lap as Bucky leans back against Steve’s chest. He breathes in the scent of Bucky’s shampoo, kissing his scalp. He slings his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, leaving his hand on Bucky’s waist. 

“I second that,” Bucky mutters, eyes already droopy. 

“Good thing brought pizza then,” a voice from the hallway sounds. Bucky almost bolts right up, fight or flight response engaged. Natasha walks around the corner, five pizza boxes stacked on top of each other. She drops her bag on the floor and looks around the room, whistling. “Wow, you guys did _good_. I’m impressed.”

“Nat,” Steve breathes, smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“what , as if I’d miss the housewarming party? Hell no!”

“What about the agents, then? They gone?”

Natasha snorts, dropping the food on the coffee table. “Yeah, I told the office that their agents are shit, and that I need a vacation. Left early yesterday morning, before clocking in.”

She flops down on the armchair, kicking off the shoes and resting her feet on the foot stool. Bucky settles back down against Steve and Wanda waves over a box of pizza with a flick of a hand. 

“What are we watching, then?” Bucky asks, playing with Steve’s fingers on his waist. 

“I vote ghosts,” Wanda suggests, and Natasha immediately counters with thrillers. Steve decides not to voice his opinion, instead lets his favorite girls choose what to watch. He tunes out their bantering, zeroing in on Bucky, and Bucky alone. He seems to notice that he’s being watched because he raises his head and meets Steve’s eyes, mouth twitching into a smile. Steve mirrors the gesture.

Bucky tilts his face up to kiss Steve. 

There’s not one trace of cold on his lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is 100% just me proving to myself that i can write. if i can, well, that's up to you pals. i've not written a word in 1,5 years, so you can't blame me.
> 
> come step by my [tumblr!](asebstan.tumblr.com) honestly, please. please.


End file.
